Signs of Portents

by Lou Paduano

  And back to the waiting maw of the tiger.

  “Holy…” Loren muttered. The tiger growled, thick paws rising for the kill. Loren tried to reach for his gun, unable to move, unable to think clearly in the moment.

  A foot shot past him, connecting soundly against the stone. The tiger fell back, paws missing their easy prey. Soriya’s hand fell on Loren’s shoulders, helping him to his feet.

  “What the…?” Loren started. Soriya placed a finger to her lips.

  “Stay closer, Loren,” she instructed. She turned back to the stairs, finding her place along the wide steps. Carefully, she resumed her climb, Loren’s hands on her shoulder. He peered back, watching the two statues on either side of him salivate, waiting for another opportunity. Loren stopped looking back.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Loren felt his pulse slow. He forced a breath, then a second, waiting for his heart to return to its slow throb instead of the loud thumping that echoed in his ears. His jacket was in one piece. He was in one piece, thankfully. Soriya was already at the door, her eyes ablaze with excitement.

  “You coming or not?” she called, waving him onward.

  “Are we going to talk about the statue things or not?” he asked, moving beside her. “I think we should talk about the statue things.”

  “No, you don’t,” she replied, her eyes back on the double bronze doors.

  “True,” he agreed. Knowing meant having to carry that information with him the rest of his days.

  “There are paths we take and paths we ignore. Knowing two paths lay before us offers us a choice but it limits our perceptions to only those two options. Walking the line between gives a third choice. A true choice.” Her words were distant, her eyes cold and calculating. Neither was her. When Soriya usually spoke, there was a youthful glee behind each secret revealed, a glow that circled her brown eyes. As she recited the explanation, he knew the words were not her own but those of Mentor.

  Loren looked around, content enough for now to move along rather than dwell on being eaten by a concrete tiger statue or hugged to death by a blindfolded crone. The street stretched out before them, down Ness and split off in all directions in and out of the city. No traffic was visible for blocks but Loren heard the engine of the bus lines continuing their routes, even in the dead of night. He looked back to Soriya, who was studying the stone frame around the bronze doors closely.

  “When you talked about this place I assumed it wasn’t quite so out in the open.”

  She laughed, still looking forward intently. “Best place to hide something.”

  The doors stood fifteen feet tall and the frame extended around them was of a thick gray material that resembled stone. Embedded in the stone, carved with a fine edge, was a maze of images that ran up the sides and on top of the double doors. Signs and symbols, some recognizable to Loren from the recent murders and others completely foreign to him. More signs hidden in plain sight within the confines of the city of Portents. Signs that said more than he knew, though he kept trying to piece them together into his own narrow worldview. On each side of the great doors, centered at eye level, there was one image presented in gold, where the rest remained the gray of the material. Each one depicted a small torch with a thin flame rising into the sky.

  Soriya pushed in front of Loren, her hands resting against the doorframe. She was searching for something. The curious detective could do nothing but watch as the young woman pushed one of the symbols into the wall. The sound of grating stone rang in his ears, and he watched the wall shifting before him. New symbols appeared. The motion was fluid, seemingly through gears and tracks hidden beneath the thick stonework, but Loren watched with the amazement of a child at the shifting tiles. Soriya, on the other side of the frame, located the image of a bull with a broken horn and pushed it. Once more, the frame shifted, replacing each symbol with a new one. The only two that remained constant were the two of gold on each side of the bronze doors.

  Soriya’s feet floated rather than walked. Symbol after symbol fell flush with the wall, then caved inward and the shifting continued until she stopped her hand over the golden torch to the right of the door. She looked back to Loren, his head nodding for her to continue. She smiled wide. He asked no questions. He had them for sure and sometimes they had to be asked. For the most part, however, there was faith between them. Faith in her.

  Soriya’s fingers ran along the edge of the torch image emblazoned in gold along the stone frame. Deftly she turned it clockwise until it was upside down. As it hit the mark, a loud clicking sound rang through the frame. The door, once bolted with two large handles resting in the center completely in bronze, now stood ajar. Loren stepped closer to grab the handle and Soriya jumped in front of him. Her joy was infectious and his excitement matched hers. Her fingers gripped the handles of the doors softly and threw the great double doors open before them.

  “Welcome to the Courtyard, Loren,” she said. He tried to find words, some form of language to express what he saw, what he felt, what he smelled in the air that rushed around him. There was only one when it came to life in the city of Portents.

  “Bizarre.”

  Stretching out before him was the true city of Portents. Where it appeared to be a single building from its edifice, dozens of buildings sprang up, spreading out from the bronze doors in all directions. A double-wide city street paved in bronze with thick stone walkways on both sides as far as he could see. There were modern homes, mixed with medieval castles, thrown next to cave dwellings and early twentieth century tenements for good measure. Time was lost and so was Loren. He felt Soriya’s hand slide into the crook of his arm, pulling him farther and farther into the unknown.

  The main street of bronze was filled with people, vendors and merchants. Loren stepped closer and realized that people was a misnomer. They were beyond people. Angels walked with demons. Orcs sang drunken songs along the sidewalks. Elvish archery unfolded amid the chaos of the crowds, arrows splitting between pedestrians in a competition between brethren.

  “All this…” Loren started. He stopped when he realized Soriya was no longer by his side. His gaze broke from the crowds of people that continued to go about their business to see Soriya close the doors. In an instant the doors shut; they no longer glowed in the bronze hue but appeared dull and worn with age. The doors were also not the end of the place but simply a midpoint. More merchants and buildings unfolded down the double-wide street. “How?”

  Soriya once more grabbed the crook of his arm and pulled him along. “The Courtyard is self-sustaining and hidden in plain sight. Within the walls of the building we stepped through is the equivalent of twelve city blocks all existing in the city and slightly out of it.”

  The true city. She always mentioned it in passing. Loren thought she meant the insanity that surrounded them within the confines of Portents and the mysteries that presented themselves through their work. But this? To see so many different beings, to view so much life hidden from so many people by a simple pair of locked doors, brought a whole new meaning of hidden city to him. Like Urg, there was life here in the Courtyard beyond anything Loren imagined when he thought of creatures of myth and legend. Fact and fiction had no meaning in Portents. In the city and the Courtyard, they were one and the same.

  Loren stopped in the center of the street. Surrounding him on all sides was a small pack of blue imps in dervish caps. They smoked cigars as large as their faces and cursed in tongues foreign to him. Above them, the sky was no longer made of the deep shadows that fell over the city with the coming of night. Instead, there was an unearthly red-purple hue to the cloudless sky. Stars littered the atmosphere, brighter than he had seen them before. Loren found a few he recognized, the Little Dipper and Orion’s Belt but few others amid the dozens of constellation patterns.

  “I don’t recognize all of the constellations. There’s so many.” His words were light as the air around them. They were the musings of a dreamer instead of the lost soul he felt he had beco
me. So much of his imagination was lost to life over the years. Cold, hard reality was the kingdom he lived within and it suited him fine for the most part. This, however, was something unique. It pulled out the boyhood spent reading Superman comic books on the back porch, watching the clouds move across the sky. A star winked out above him and two more disappeared in quick succession after that, only to be replaced by other stars of brighter intensity. The sky was brighter too, it seemed. He turned to Soriya, pointing up at the spot. “Did it just shift?”

  She nodded, the weight of everything washing away at the sight of his curiosity. “Don’t let the science slow you down, Loren. People, creatures, monsters, and gods all reside here. Some have been brave enough to live in the actual city. Most, though, those who have been here since before the city and those who have crossed over since the founding of Portents, typically stay here.”

  Loren felt something large brush past him but failed to see anyone. Between more creatures, there was the outline of a woman but she had no physical form. Light bounced off her frame as it did others but it created a transparent nature rather than reflect the natural hue of her skin. Soriya grabbed him and yanked him back before a giant foot slammed against the streets, jolting everyone in the impact. A pair of giants moved toward the bar at the far end of the Courtyard. They spoke of all you can eat wings and bottomless pitchers of beer with wide salivating grins across their faces. Safe from being caught underfoot, Loren and Soriya crossed the street to the sidewalk.

  “Why would anyone want to hide in the city with this place here?” Loren asked, though he knew as soon as he did what the answer would be. Urg was the reminder that hiding was not what the true city of Portents was all about. They were about life.

  “They don’t hide and you know it,” she said, scanning the street. “They live in the city. From street merchants to business owners. From psychics to florists. The city isn’t just for mankind. It never was.”

  Loren stepped in front of her. The imagination from his childhood gave way to the burden of the file tucked under his arm, drawing him back to the real purpose of their visit. The wonder of it all had to wait for now. He knew it and so did she.

  “So why are we here? Are you going to tell me that much or at least where we might be going?”

  “Someone has escaped the Bypass,” she started, her eyes falling on a large alley that split the medieval castle and the tenement housing. She pointed to it, then pulled Loren along. She walked slowly, giving him time to listen. “Someone who knows the city. We’re dealing with an old soul that even freaks out Mentor.”

  “Mentor is not alone on that one.”

  “It happens every once in awhile,” she continued. “Escapes, that is. Most are through sheer force of will. Some by morons on our side looking to strike bargains they can’t possibly understand. But when these guys come back looking for blood, or worse….”

  She trailed off, leaving the thought unspoken. She pressed on for the alley faster, until Loren stopped.

  “Tell me,” he asked. “How bad?”

  She hesitated, moving close to him. The world of the Courtyard did not care, the lives of its inhabitants failing to even notice the two strangers in their midst. “It’s never good to be out at night in the city, Loren. You know that. Most people do, though they might not realize why they feel that way. But these guys? The really bad ones? They bring down cities. Entire civilizations.”

  They reached the alley, Soriya continuing through the darkness. Loren called after her, her last words echoing. “How is this place going to help?”

  Loren followed his companion into the thick, black shadows. Even under the red-violet sky of the Courtyard, no lights pierced the veil of the alleyway. One side was brick and mortar, reminding the aging detective of home with every edge cracked and every brick written upon in multi-color graffiti. The other side was brick and mortar as well but it was old, ancient even. The bricks were shoddily constructed and the mortar held together with the thinnest of strands. The castle wall had seen better days but when compared to the tenement by its side, its majesty still poured through.

  “We’re here.” Soriya’s hand was barely visible. Loren almost felt it graze the tip of his nose. The worn heels of his sneakers squeaked to a halt; he was a cartoon character amid drama players. Soriya glared to him and he muttered apologies, though for what exactly he wasn’t completely sure.

  In the back of the alley where both buildings met a third on the opposing street, there was nothing that stood out to Loren as helpful. There was no great insight into the killer that he could see through the thick black of the alley. No sprawling sign with the killer’s name in giant block letters. There was no army of men to help him catch a killer capable of eviscerating a man with his bare hand or leaping twenty feet to adjacent rooftops without flinching. There was nothing in the dark, except for a broken-down dumpster. Instead of garbage inside it, the refuse was strewn around it, offering up smells best left forgotten. Beyond the centerpiece with the large piece of cardboard strapped to its lid there was only a small shelf bolted to the wall of the building that brought the alley to a close. The detective saw nothing else and the wonder faded from his eyes.

  “Seriously, Soriya,” he said, reaching for her shoulder. He needed to see her face. He needed her to look at him when she answered him. “How is this going to help?”

  Instead, Soriya pulled away and moved for the dumpster. She removed the apple from the small bag she had wrapped on her belt. She held it out like a recovered jewel from the ocean. “I made an appointment.”

  “How does that…?” he started.

  The sound of a knife cutting through the air silenced his question. Soriya took the small blade she always carried and dug into the side of the golden apple. Juice ran from the small incision she carved into its side. She cut away a small piece and placed it on the cardboard. The rest of the apple joined it in the center of the dumpster lid.

  “Soriya,” Loren called.

  “You’ll see.” Her words were barely a whisper. Her eyes told the real story. Even in the darkness, Loren saw the deep, brown wells cutting through him deeper than her knife through the apple. “No more talking, Loren.”

  She bowed her head, turning back to the dumpster altar. Calling out to the darkness she said, “I offer life for wisdom. Honor my request.”

  Green slits cut through the darkness of the alley. On top of the small shelf hanging from the building before them, two green eyes opened to their presence. Loren and Soriya sat still for a long moment, then great black wings spread in front of them. A large raven leapt into the air, heading straight for Soriya. Loren reached for her, panic in his wide eyes. Her hand shot up the instant his feet left the ground and he stopped.

  The raven landed on the cardboard altar. It circled the golden apple, curiously. Its great beak pecked at the surface of the apple with each pass. Satisfied with the small sampling his curiosity provided him, the black raven snatched the piece of the apple offered to him by Soriya and soared back to his perch upon the edifice of the building. The raven loomed over them, green glowing eyes staring in judgment of the two visitors to the dark alley. Another taste of the apple brought a look of total satisfaction on the black bird’s face. Its great beak opened to greet them, but instead of caws or chirps of a bird, a deep voice fell over them like a tidal wave.

  “Of course, child. I cannot resist,” the great raven answered.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Enter and be welcome.” The black raven spoke with a thunderous voice. It continued to nibble on the golden apple fragment offered to him by Soriya Greystone. The rest of the offer remained on the cardboard altar atop an obsolete back alley dumpster. Darkness surrounded them, but the green glowing eyes of the raven shone clearly through the night.

  Loren wanted to speak. No, truthfully, he wanted to scream. The raven being the key to solving the case was something not easy to swallow, though Loren believed it could have been much worse. The giant foot tha
t almost crushed him into the bronze pavement of the Courtyard street may have had a magical big toe that spoke, so the raven was by far more appealing than Loren’s imagination. The question remained—how could a raven locked up in an out-of-phase city within Portents have any knowledge of what occurred outside the double bronze doors at the gate? Loren was loath to ask it at the moment. Soriya’s eyes never faltered from the dark raven. He needed to know what to ask, what to say, and what the hell was going on, but knew without her eyes on him that he should remain in silence. For a little longer, anyway.

  The raven finished the small piece of apple and crooked its head toward the altar. Soriya nodded and retrieved her knife. The small, silver blade glistened under the red-violet sky. She delicately cut into the apple, creating a number of slivers. After she finished the task, the raven soared down on wide, black wings of fury. It snatched another piece then flew back to its perch. A small nibble was greeted by a moan of satisfaction.

  “Smart girl,” the shadowed creature complimented the black-haired woman before him. “Knowing the key to my heart. They do not grow apples like this anywhere else. Ask, child. Ask and be answered.”

  “Soriya?” Loren’s voice was a whisper, but it carried through the expanse of the alley. She nodded, unable or unwilling to look back at him but understanding his need.

  “He’s Kok’-Kol, Loren,” she started with ease. “One of the First Ones of the Miwok.”

  Loren understood English. He was very adept at the language, especially four-letter words. His Spanish was a little rusty and his Kryptonian was a thing of Comic-Con’s past, but despite knowing all that, he still wasn’t quite sure anything said by the young woman made sense.

  “That makes it much clearer,” he replied, a little louder. The raven crooked its head to the right, green eyes tearing through his sarcastic shell. Loren saw the smile return to the creature’s beak. A smiling raven was not in the top five of his scariest mental images but it was slowly working its way up the list.